Betty Alden: The first-born daughter of the PilgrimsAustin, Jane G. (Jane Goodwin)
History
Betty Alden: The first-born daughter of the Pilgrims
Austin, Jane G. (Jane Goodwin)
United States -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
among those sholds as to fetch us through into the open sea, although
so crippled and battered that we could no more than make back to
Gloucester for repairs.
“There I found another vessel bound south, and took passage with my
venture, secure that now my voyage should be prospered as indeed it
was, and I stayed in Virginia something over a year, trading and laying
by money.
“And now, masters, here I am in fulfilling of my vow. I have, and I do
crave pardon and forgetfulness of my former wrong-doing, and to prove
that my repentance is fruitful, I here bring you in solid cash for the
use of the colony five-and-twenty rose-nobles, good money, honestly
gained.”
And with a smile of self-approval not unmixed with surprise at his own
position, Oldhame brought a grimy canvas bag from the depths of one of
the pockets of his pea-coat, and planted it with a pleasant thud and
jingle upon the table in front of the governor, who raised his hand as
if to push it back, but restrained the gesture, and after a moment’s
hesitation rose, and taking the penitent by the hand said in his
grandly simple way,--
“No man can do more than to confess himself sorry for wrong-doing, and
to offer satisfaction for sin. Zaccheus did no more, and the Son of God
became his guest. Master Oldhame, we receive you again as our friend
and comrade, and make you welcome to our town whensoever you may see
fit to visit us. As for this money, if you will retire for a little,
I will take counsel with my advisers here, and tell you our mind.
Will you walk about the town, or will you await our summons outside?
Bartholomew, Master Oldhame is no longer a prisoner but a guest; go
with him where he will, and Gyles, wait you without to summon him, when
we are ready.”
But Oldhame went no farther than a sunny angle of the Fort, where,
seated upon the section of a tree-trunk set there by Captain
Standish, he lighted his pipe, folded his arms, and fixing his eyes
upon Captain’s Hill sat smoking in stolid silence, rather to the
disappointment of Bart Allerton, who was a sociable young man, and
would have liked the news from Virginia.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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